


Where All The Lights Are Bright

by flowerfan



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Insecurities, Love, M/M, New York City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28172373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerfan/pseuds/flowerfan
Summary: A visit to New York City leaves Patrick feeling out of place.  David, not surprisingly, has an opinion.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 33
Kudos: 234





	Where All The Lights Are Bright

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick little look into Patrick (because what better way is there to spend a snowy Saturday morning than writing about these two sweet guys in love).

Patrick stands in front of the hotel bathroom sink, hands splayed on the cold marble countertop. His uncertain reflection stares back at him.

It’s late, and Patrick is tired. He and David flew in last night, Alexis insisting that everyone come to New York City to celebrate her thirty-fifth birthday. Johnny put them all up at the Ritz, taking advantage of a discount offered by an industry connection, and took them out for a celebratory dinner at the Four Seasons. Patrick has never been anywhere like it – the wait staff hovered so close, you couldn’t sneeze without one of them offering you a tissue.

After that, Alexis had arranged for a table at one of her favorite clubs. The word had apparently gotten out that the Roses were in town, and Alexis had spent the evening being air-kissed by more people than Patrick could count. David, too.

David had looked particularly stunning tonight. Instead of one of his usual fluffy sweaters, he had worn a black Dior jacket with a white rose pattern on one side, paired with slim black pants and a form-fitting black shirt. Patrick wore one of his nicest blazers, but in contrast to the picture painted by his glamorous husband, he felt like the help. And frankly, the wait staff at the Four Seasons looked snazzier than he did.

In Schitt’s Creek, David stands out. He isn’t to everyone’s taste, but people have come to love him, although Patrick hears the comment “I just don’t understand his clothes” on a regular basis. Tonight, Patrick was the odd one out, looking like a drab schoolteacher while David and Alexis were feted by the beautiful people.

There’s a knock at the bathroom door, and Patrick is startled out of his thoughts. 

“Have you suddenly decided to take my advice about a more intensive skin care routine? Because while I applaud the effort, we would need to do a careful evaluation of your skin first. You can’t just jump into something like that.” 

“I’ll be out in a minute,” Patrick replies. But David must hear something in his voice, because he knocks again.

“Patrick? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’ve got several different brands of painkillers in my toiletry bag,” David offers. But Patrick doesn’t have a headache. That’s not where it hurts.

“I said I’m fine, I’ll be right out.” Hiding in the bathroom isn’t going to help anything. Patrick brushes his hands over himself, his worn white t-shirt and sleep pants unchanged from the last time he looked, and opens the door.

David is standing there, a hand on his hip. He’s wearing the striped pajama top he’s had for years, as familiar to Patrick as his own face, and suddenly Patrick is swamped with feelings.

“Honey?” David asks, his hands fluttering towards him and landing on Patrick’s shoulders as they have thousands of times before. “What’s wrong?”

Patrick tries to shrug it off. “I’m just tired.” Patrick reaches for David, trying to judge whether he can distract him with sex. David doesn’t fall for it. Wrinkling his brow in confusion, he snags Patrick’s wandering hands and holds them in his own. 

“Patrick.” They’ve known each other for years now, and Patrick’s tendency to avoid discussing things has gotten better, but it hasn’t gone away completely. “What’s going on?”

Patrick sighs and moves to the bed. David sits down next to him, his dark eyes full of concern. Patrick’s gaze flickers around the well-appointed room, with its cream and camel color palette and graceful yet modern furnishings. It’s just like David, sophisticated and fashionable. David belongs on these high thread count sheets; Patrick, not so much.

He doesn’t even realize that tears are welling in his eyes until David is wiping them away. He tries to explain, but nothing comes out. David wraps his arms around him and Patrick digs his face into his neck. He breathes in sharply and David holds him tighter.

Patrick loves David more than he ever thought he could love another person. He never feels safer than when David envelops him in his arms, his body blocking out the world. But tonight there’s still an ache of uncertainty in his chest.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” David asks again, pressing circles into Patrick’s back. “Did something happen tonight?” 

Patrick can hear the worry in David’s voice, an echo, perhaps, of other nights in other clubs. He knows David has had plenty of bad experiences in the past. But nothing particularly bad happened to Patrick tonight. Everyone he met was pleasant enough, as their eyes slid over him to land on David or Alexis.

“It’s fine,” Patrick says, and David pulls back, his hands coming up to frame Patrick’s face.

“It is absolutely not fine, and you need to stop saying that,” David says firmly. “You are upset, and that is not fine.”

Silence hangs between them, and Patrick scrambles for something to say. “We don’t match,” is what he finally comes up with. It’s not quite what he means.

David looks at him, puzzled. “In what way?”

“You’re… you. And I’m…”

David tilts his head. “Could you give me a little more to work with?”

“You outshine me.”

David rubs his hands up and down Patrick’s bare arms, sucking on his lips as he considers this. “I did offer to help you pick out an outfit for tonight.”

Patrick huffs out a laugh. “I don’t think anything in my closet would make a difference. It’s not just the clothes.”

David leans in, kissing the side of Patrick’s face and looping his arms around his shoulders. David is so generous with his touch. His hands are always finding Patrick, petting and reassuring, turning him on and calming him down, always seeming to know which one he needs. “What is it, then?”

“I don’t belong here.”

David runs his thumb along Patrick’s cheek. “I disagree.”

“Come on, you have to see it. I looked like an idiot tonight.”

David sits back and grips Patrick’s shoulders. “I’m sorry you had a bad time at the club. But I won’t let you judge yourself by whether you fit in with rich snobs. Why would you care what they think of you, anyway?”

“You care about what they think of you.”

David purses his lips. “I used to. And then I realized the error of my ways.” He runs his hands down Patrick’s arms to his elbows, and shakes them a little. “I love you. You are a perfect match for me, and you know it. Don’t let the bastards get you down.”

Patrick huffs out a laugh. “Did you just quote your mother at me?”

“I don’t think she made it up. But she’s right. Those people don’t know you. I do.”

“And you think we match? Even though I’ve never been to restaurants with five-hundred-dollar bottles of wine, or hotels with Carrera marble in the bathrooms?” The hotel provided this information on its website, as though the type of marble on the countertops was of critical importance in choosing where to spend the night.

“We do. Even though you said a Ritz was a cracker, not a hotel.” David says, rubbing his nose against Patrick’s.

“I was joking,” Patrick says, a laugh bursting its way past the ache in his chest. 

“Even though you thought Alexis would like to go bowling for her birthday.”

“That was when she lived in Schitt’s Creek, and she had a great time.” Patrick can’t help but keep laughing, as David pushes him down on the bed and presses kisses into his neck. He lets the ache disappear, and the space is filled instantly by the love he feels for this amazing man. 

David kisses him behind his ear, and nibbles at his earlobe. “Even if you insisted on singing to me in public.” David’s voice drops deeper. He's not really trying to keep up the joke with this one. It's proof that they do match, not the opposite.

“You loved it,” Patrick says, and David kisses him on the lips, sweet and fond.

“I did. I loved it before I even fully understood what you were doing to me.” David rolls to his side, pulling Patrick with him and catching his gaze. “You taught me how to feel love, Patrick. I think that makes us a pretty good match.”

Patrick loses himself in David’s eyes for a long moment, then kisses him until he has to come up for air. “I love you.” David knows how to make him laugh. He knows when he needs to be pushed, and when he needs to be held. He knows him, and he loves him – plain, unadorned Patrick Brewer.

“I love you too,” David says. “Always.”

Patrick curls himself against David, his head on his shoulder and arm slung over his waist. David pulls him in, one hand against the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. 

“I still don’t fit in New York City,” Patrick says. But it doesn’t hurt to think it now, it just seems like a fact, one that’s not so important anymore. He snuggles up against David, breathing in the warm scent of his body.

“Just because you don’t like pretentious clubs doesn’t mean you should write off all five boroughs,” David says loftily.

“I don’t know, what could be better than pretentious clubs?”

David sighs. “The pizza, Patrick. And the bagels. But most importantly, the pizza.”


End file.
